


Irregular Maintenance

by ThatScottishShipper



Series: Fanfic Fortnight [11]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Body Image, Body Worship, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Aid, First Kiss, Gunshot Wounds, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Insecurity, M/M, Mechanics, Medical Trauma, Miscommunication, Poor Connor, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Trust, dont repost to another site, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23301892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatScottishShipper/pseuds/ThatScottishShipper
Summary: When Connor gets hurt in the field, Hank reveals a secret talent of his... and Connor’s insecurities about being “just a machine” worsen.*Written for IshidaSado and GamUnite.*
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Fanfic Fortnight [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537399
Comments: 6
Kudos: 201





	Irregular Maintenance

“Take ‘em off.”

Connor blinked, turning towards Hank’s voice from across the desk. Even with his fingers poised upon his keyboard, the Android’s full attention was on his Lieutenant Partner as always. Not that it was difficult given the stern stare he was receiving.

“Lieutenant?”

Hank huffed, growing more impatient. “Your ears playing up too? I said, _take ‘em off_.”

As Chris strolled by, with a cocked eyebrow, Connor tilted his head, trying to assess his Partner’s words without stating the glaring obvious of the situation.

“Take what off, Lieutenant?”

Hank gawked as if the Android asked him a foolish question, not one founded in logic. “Whaddaya think, goofball? Your socks and shoes. Roll up the trouser leg while you’re at it.”

Connor’s chocolate brown eyes shimmered with unseen resonance, evaporating like spilled Thirium. “...May I ask a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“Nah,” Hank answered abruptly. He stiffly rose to his feet, and carried over a box. A tinned treasure slapped with various stickers from Hank’s childhood, though that abrasive voice distracted him from scrutinising the contents further. “None of your Q&As, Con. Just do what I ask, huh?”

Once, the Lieutenant patted the desk, and that’s all it took for Connor to obey.

As soon as Connor perched on his desk, Hank stole his Partner’s chair, grateful for the support to his back. As the box was placed carefully by him, the RK800 watched with morbid fascination as Hank slowly donned a small pair of spectacles, ones he only recalled seeing him wear for evening reading and crosswords, and popped open the tin box.

Revealing a toolbox, full of implements for tinkering with an electrical appliance… or an Android. The RK800 tried not to remember a past being taken apart and put back together by cold, uncaring hands.

He balked, curling his socked toes with unease.

When Hank chose a pair of long scissor-like implements, most likely surgical forceps with a curved pinch at the tips, Connor spoke out. “I am fine, Hank. There is nothing wrong that warrants this.”

Glancing at his Partner, Hank grunted. “You’ve been red ringing on and off since we got back from that bust. And you’re leg’s doing a disco underneath your pants, which means your skin’s been deactivated and isn’t smoothing back like it should.” He brandished the tool at the Android. “That means something’s not working, so I repeat: pant leg up.”

Astounded by the Lieutenant’s knowledge of the Android form, Connor nevertheless remained stubborn. “I don’t think-”

“That much is obvious, otherwise you’d have gotten this fixed sooner.” The Android burned beneath that scathing tone. “Meaning it’s probably locked up. Explains why you haven’t been up and at ‘em from your desk as often as you are. You’ve usually made me, what, three coffees by now?”

Despising those same deductive skills he so praised, Connor pouted. “ _Two_ , Lieutenant Anderson.”

With a flick of the wrist, Hank once gestured for Connor to expose his leg, determined to see the damage for himself. And Connor, suspecting that Hank was not willing to let the issue go, rolled down his sock, lifted the pant leg, and revealed what he long tried to hide.

Below the knee was an area of exposed white shell, and blue blood pooling around the flickering red impact point. Hank knew enough in his line of work to recognise a gunshot wound when he saw one.

Hell, he had been victim to plenty of them himself.

As Hank sanitised, then gloved his hands, he mumbled, “just what a thought.” He peered up at the Android, who did not want to look at him. “How long did you think you could hide this from me, Con?”

“Long enough,” Connor mumbled, disliking all the attention he was receiving from fellow law enforcement. Even Captain Fowler stepped out of his office, a rare occurrence, to peer over the hand railing.

He hated all those eyes on him, on his vulnerable chassis.

Meanwhile, Hank continued to examine the broken shell, grimacing at the sight of Connor’s pain in raw physical form. All the while wrestling with thoughts inside his own head.

 _‘He never told me. Must’ve changed clothing thinking I might not notice.’_ He cradled an arm under his Partner’s leg for support, taking in the detailed injury upon closer inspection. _‘Poor kid really doesn’t wanna go back to CyberLife…’_

Hank saw a gleaming metal that did not belong among the electronic wiring and shining interior. _‘And there she is.’_ He readied the extraction tool in steady hands. “Pft. This ain’t the first time I’ve tended to an injured leg. I’m a master at cleaning scraped knees.”

Connor’s wary gaze flicked between Hank and the threatening weapon in his hands. “Lieutenant, this isn’t…”

“I know it’s not,” Hank answered abruptly. “Humour me okay?” He brought the tweezers closer, examining deep into the injury. “Must’ve hurt.”

Before Connor could reaffirm that it did not hurt, because he is an Android and Androids don’t feel pain, he caught himself fulfilling his own prophecy.

**[That’s right.**

**I am an Android.**

**I’m not like Hank and the others.**

**I never will be.]**

Suddenly, an intense discomfort robbed his system of clear thought, as the forceps snagged something inside his leg. He became acutely aware of every little detail, trying to avoid the strange cloud pluming inside every artificial nerve ending, originating from the gunshot wound.

Every little sound inside the suddenly stationary police station, from the shuddering coffee machine to the subdued chatter emanating from further away desks.

Even Hank’s thumb gently running along underneath his leg in an effort to comfort him. That reassuring cloud that was Hank’s voice drifting to his ears.

“You’re doin’ great, Con. Just a little…”

Carefully, the Lieutenant withdrew the bullet from the wound, placing it on the cloth beside the toolbox. Thirium blood soaked the fabric from a fairly intact bullet.

“For ballistics,” he said, wiping down the forceps before moving on to his next task - repairing the nicked wires. “Don’t want to risk you losing any more Thirium. Still with me, Connor?”

All the while, Hank set about reconnecting wires, and drying thirium leaking down Connor’s leg like it was the simplest task in the world.

Connor was speechless. Rather than being frightened by his own technological design, he became enraptured by Hank’s nimble hands working miracles on him. Never a look of disturbance or disgust clouded his Partner’s focused features, only that of a dedicated practitioner talking Connor through it.

By the time Hank had finished, lowering his tools, Connor’s artificial skin slowly reactivated until there was not a sign left of his injury. His leg had turned back to normal, seamless and perfect.

 _‘Aren’t we lucky?’_ Hank thought, his own body littered with old faded wounds from the battlefield of the force. He tugged stained gloves off him, dismissing them for waste with an uncomfortable look.

One that Connor filed away with quiet horror.

“There, done.” Hank tried to smile, handing the Android a very familiar bottle of Thirium 310. “Don’t sit up too quickly until you’ve restored your Thirium levels, kay?”

Surprised by Hank’s knowledge, Connor was reluctant to bring the concoction to his lips, not in front of everyone there, not in front of Hank. He never had since turning Deviant.

It felt… morbid in company.

“So…” Hank began, awkwardly wiping down his tools. “You wanna hand this bad boy down to ballistics later, or you want me to?”

“I’ll do it.” In an instant, Connor got to his feet, swiping the packaged bullet, but unsteadiness overcame him. Although his leg had physically healed, inside was another matter. His Thirium levels were still low.

And he nearly buckled, causing droplets of blue blood to hit the floor between them.

“Connor! Dammit, I told you to take it easy for once!”

Before Hank could approach him, kill him with kindness he did not deserve, Connor blurted out an “I’m fine,” his glimmering red LED a beacon of falsehood. The Android strode towards the Ballistics department with determined focus, a purpose.

“I’ll be fine once I walk it off.”

But it would never be fine.

Even once they washed the floor, wiped away the presence of the Thirium, Connor would still see it. He would always see it, a permanent stained reminder of what he was.

Detroit was smothered in it.

xxx

In the sanctuary of their home, the door had barely closed before Hank let it out. It always happened in the car or at home, but it always fell back to one thing.

Something was bothering Connor, and Hank, in kind, was bothered by that.

Shrugging off his thick jacket, Hank sniffed, crossing his arms, and glaring his Partner down like a suspect. Connor knew that steel blue very well, a tactic used by the Lieutenant to weasel information out of culprits.

But for Connor, Hank’s natural rumble lost its edge, his bright blue eyes less like chilling ice and more like an inviting cloudless sky he could fall into.

“So, what’s up?”

Normally, a playful quip shot from Connor’s tongue, something about _the ceiling, of course, Lieutenant_ , but he calculated that this was not the right time for jokes, not when Hank was clearly concerned.

Still, Connor felt unwilling to party the reason so readily, not when he remembered those sky blue eyes narrowing at the sight of speckled blue blood on his own hands. 

**[Conclusion: Hank trusts me as a Partner, but still finds my presence as an Android disturbing. Being exposed to my insides reminded him of that.]**

“Actually, I believe I am owed a personal question first,” Connor demanded, trying to ignore the warnings of unstable Thirium levels flooding his system. “Such as where you acquired your personal knowledge of Androids?”

Hank gave a cheeky grin. “Jealous, or something?”

**[Warning: System Overheating.**

**IGNORE.]**

Agitated, Connor snapped back. “No! It’s just… did you not once state _‘I know nothing about Androids, Jeffrey. I can barely handle the settings on my phone.’_ ”

“First of all, stop mimicking my voice,” Hank butted in, unflattered by the portrayal. “It’s weird. And that was then, this is now. I figured a little first aid was in order since I have a reckless Android for a Partner.”

“First aid,” Connor repeated, processing the events from earlier in a different manner.

Pouring himself a glass of ambered whisky, Hank confirmed with a nod. “Yeah, what I said. _‘First aid.’_ For Androids.” As he raised the tumbler to his lips, he rolled his eyes. “Maybe you do need your ears checked.”

Connor was not satisfied. “ _I’m_ reckless?”

“ _Very_ reckless,” Hank clarified, pointing an accusing finger his way. “Always running into danger, putting yourself in harm’s way. Christ, it’s the reason you busted your leg, then _failed_ to be straight with me about it.”

A scene of gunfire replayed in his mind, a fragile life perilously close to terminating before his eyes, and Connor acted. He crossed his arms, averting his glare. “I fail to see why that is any concern of yours, Hank. It’s not like I can die, is it? And if I’m not destroyed _too_ much, I can just be repaired again and again.”

“ _You serious?_ ” Furrowing his brow, Hank approached the situation _steaming_. “We’re Partners, you idiot! Of course I’d be concerned!”

A steely glint in his eyes, Connor met Hank’s aggression with barbed steel, like thorns from a rose in a forgotten garden. “But that wasn’t always the way of it, was it, Lieutenant?”

The heat drained from inside Hank’s body, frozen by how cold a prestiged title could sound from his once chipper Partner. But even inside the almost dark pools of Connor’s eyes existed a swirling oasis, suppressed beneath the projection of everything thrown in those hurtful words.

It wasn’t Hank that Connor was really trying to hurt.

The anger finally deflated, and Hank asked again calmly, collectedly. “What’s really your problem, Connor?”

“ _You..._ ” Connor’s LED screams betrayed him. “It’s always been you, Lieutenant. You hated me before, threatened to _‘toss me in a dumper and set a match to it…’_ ” Hank grimaced at the sound of his own voice, but he stayed silent, listening. “Remember? And suddenly, everything’s changed, because _what?_ I’m _alive?”_

“Yeah,” Hank chimed softly, softening his voice to reach Connor, realising how much his Partner had been bottling up since the Revolution. “You are. I told you I was wrong about Androids, and you…”

He remembered Connor perched on his desk, apprehensive about being sent to his death at CyberLife. And Hank knew he couldn’t let that happen either, not when the Android changed him for the better too.

“Are you sure?” Connor’s brown eyes darkened in the glim-lighting, swaying with an unnatural uneasiness. Kamski’s words penetrated his mind, a gun raised, a choice. “That I’m not just a piece of plastic imitating a human, no matter how convincing I sound?”

**[Instability_Increasing.**

**Thirium Levels_Unstable.]**

As his static screeching soared to near deafening heights, blocking out Hank’s words, Sumo’s worries whines from his bed, and even the wind howling outside seconds prior, Connor heard his own glitching voice crystal clear, overthrowing the facade he tried so hard to build.

“Why would you care about a broken thing like me, Hank?”

Then everything went dark.

xxx

In a flush of diagnostics confirming a slow and steady stability, Connor came back online.

He cracked open his eyes, taking in all the little things about Hank’s home from his place on the couch. The comforting warmth from the crackling fireplace, the serenity blue jazz that enveloped everything from the wooden floorboards to the curtains silhouetting Detroit's rainfall.

The sound had always been so relaxing to Connor as he sat in stasis every night. But the rain lashed against the window, like reality shattering in on itself over and over again.

The only thing grounding him from this disconnect was Sumo’s wet nose pressed against his palm, as his arm dangled offside the couch, and Hank’s presence.

The man was at one end, supporting Connor’s legs above his own, trousers drawn up to reveal exposed legs. The Android froze at the sight of his opened shell, but he stopped quickly when he saw Hank’s eyes.

They were tranquil blue, a calm ocean, washing over him and all the dark thoughts overwhelming his Mind Palace.

“Hey… what’d I tell you about taking it easy?” He patted Connor’s knee, his fist curled around something. “Only just sorted you, fer Christ sake.”

Everywhere Hank touched, Connor’s chassis bloomed, like a white flower with blue tinged petals. That fist brushing against his knee, the supportive legs beneath his body, his other arm cradled around his back produced the wondrous rippling light, exposing Connor at his most vulnerable, even fully clothed.

His true self, composed of artificial biocomponents and machinery. And if his appearance was fake, then his Deviancy, his feelings...

His feelings for Hank were not real.

Withdrawing into himself, Connor red-ringed.

Panicking that he might have slipped up and made a mistake, Hank threw his tool aside, metal clattering against the smooth floorboards. He held the Android close, examining him for further signs of distress. “Connor, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Quietly, Connor spoke, looking away in fear as his arms created a shield around his chest. His one true fear. “...I didn’t want you to… see me like this.”

Hank raised his eyebrows. “Like, naked?”

Connor resisted the urge to punch him. “No! Not exactly… My skin deactivated.” He stared down at his leg, the panel exposed from Hank’s work, and the faint glowing from the blue artificial light of his body revealing itself slowly. “I’m not… human.”

Leaning in, Hank sighed. “Shoulda guessed that’s what was bothering you. “Listen, as far as I’m concerned, mending an Android isn’t that different to mending a human. If a person gets hurt, they get help. So should an Android.”

Something inside Connor stirred at those words. Then he remembered Hank’s look at the sight of his blood at the station. “I assumed that you were still awkward by my Android status. You seemed… ill at ease at the station.”

Hank huffed. “That’s cause you were hurt, genius. I don’t exactly like seeing you hurt.”

Suddenly, it clicked.

**[Update. Hank’s displeasure at seeing thirium was not because of disgust at being an Android.**

**It was concern.**

**Hank saw my Thirium as blood, regardless of colour.]**

Connor bowed his head, overcome by Hank’s attention. “...I see.”

“Anyway, your leg should be on the mend now,” Hank affirmed, leaning back on the couch, keeping his Partner’s leg propped upward. “As long as you take it easy.”

“I believe I am still owed an answer, Hank,” Connor reminded him, softening his voice at the Lieutenant’s name. “Where did you acquire such a unique set of skills?”

Reaching over to retrieve his half full whisky glass, Hank began. “Taught myself. Well, kinda. I figured since I’ve got such a reckless Partner, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to know a little first aid just in case.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Android First Aid? I did not know they offered such learning to the public.”

Scratching his chin, Hank confessed with a sheepish look. “They don’t, not officially anyway.”

“Then where did you-”

“Jericho.”

Then Connor understood, all the pieces clicking into place. All those little nights Hank departed insisting Connor stay home, assuming his human Partner was at Jimmy’s Bar, with no amount of negotiation changing his mind.

Hank had been at Jericho, receiving first hand knowledge at tending to Android injuries in case something happened to one, or Connor, on the job.

“...Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor finally asked.

After taking a nippy sip of his drink, Hank unwinded his heart. “‘Cause I know you always follow me around like a little puppy, and I figured you didn’t wanna go there. So I thought it was best to keep it under wraps, so you didn’t feel bad or something. Sounded a lot more sense in my head anyway.”

But Connor understood where Hank was coming from.

Since the Revolution, Connor harboured much conflict about socialising with Jericho. Markus always opened his arms to him, told him he was always welcome for helping the rebellion succeed, but deep inside, Connor didn’t feel like he deserved it.

After all, he harboured blame for the invasion of Jericho, for everything CyberLife did.

All Hank wanted was to give Connor time and space to come to terms with everything.

“Hey.”

A soft hand brushed against his LED, and without control, whiteness shimmered around the contact point. A stuttering burst of yellow blended with red, like a molten halo against his temple.

“What’s going on with you, Con?” The gentleness in his voice unlocked something inside Connor, despite the fact he hated how readily he responded to Hank’s touch.

“I hate being reminded of what I am,” Connor finally admitted quietly, aware of how he must have looked to his human. “Imperfect, flawed… inhuman. No matter how much I try to blend in, deep down, I am a machine that bleeds blue.”

In an instant, the faint touch against his head extended to the side of his face, a large palm warming Connor’s cheek. Wherever Hank touched, Connor’s skin deactivated in a hungry attempt to interface with him, to increase the sensitive contact.

His senses swam with delirium, taking in too much too quickly, but craving that touch.

“Figures you’d still be obsessing over that,” Hank grunted, letting a thumb rub Connor’s cheek. “You wanna know something? We all feel flawed sometimes, humans and Androids. Spent my whole life feeling like a sad sack of crap-”

Connor’s eyes glistened. “Hank-”

“Hold on. I need to say this. When I helped you, I didn’t treat you like an Android or a machine or whatever. I treated you as someone that needed help. Someone I care a hell of a lot for. No different to a human that scraped their knee, or hurt themselves doing whatever. I learned how to do this so I could be there for you, Con.”

Connor faltered. “...Hank. I’m not like you. I bleed blue.”

“You still bleed,” Hank interjected, never letting go of his Partner. “And get scared, and shut d-... Biocomponents are hardly any different from human ones, blue blood does the job my red boozy stuff does. We’re the same. The point is you’re more than just a machine, alright? You’re Connor, my goddamn Partner, and I’d stand by you, being your personal nurse ‘til the end of time if it meant keeping you safe. You don’t need to hide stuff from me anymore, okay?”

Stunned by the personal admission, Connor gave an ultimatum of his own. “Only if you don’t either, Hank Anderson.”

In each other’s arms, a strong blue pulse came from Connor’s chest, surprising him. Like a series of steady beats that took his artificial breath away, the RK800 searched his system for errors in his Thirium pump, only to find… nothing.

**[No Errors Detected.]**

Honouring their promise to one another, Connor confessed. “Hank? I do not wish to alarm you, but I believe there is an unscripted error with my Thirium pump.”

“Oh?” Hank glanced down towards Connor’s chest, where his Android heart would be beating, keeping him alive. “What does this ‘error’ feel like?”

“Well…” The Android placed a hand across the left side of his chest, the sensation of a beating Thirium pump beneath his fingers. “I am in no pain. It is confusing, though. My Thirium pump accelerates, often with reported overheating and… peculiar effects with no physical cause.”

Screwing his face, Hank pushed for more. “Effects? What kinda effects? Where?”

Connor pointed towards his stomach, then seemed confused. “I would say here, but… everywhere at once, which is impossible. And I experience this multiple times a day. Perhaps something is broken that my diagnostics cannot detect? What if the diagnostics are broken?”

Hank chuckled in disbelief. “Nah, you’re not broken at all, Con. I might have a hunch what’s up.” He shifted, drawing closer to the alarmed Android. “May I?”

When Connor nodded, Hank closed the gap between them, pressing his lips softly against his Partner. He was careful not to impose completely on Connor’s space, giving him the opportunity to back away at any time.

Connor kept the kiss, a hand tentatively finding path to the man’s shirt, holding him close.

_‘We really need to talk things out in future...’_

The kiss broke, only for Hank to be spellcast by the sight of his Partner. Parted lips stained white, exposed to the kiss, and half laden eyes lost in the sight of Hank.

When Hank finally got his breath back, he gasped. “Did that help?”

“Immensely.”

xxx

A new day dawned, and the sound of rhythmic metal and tapping greeted the sun.

As Connor sat, stripped and deactivated down to his waist, he tried to focus on the blue bottle in his hands. But even so, it was still strange, relinquishing control to another. “Be careful, Hank. I’m not exactly cheap.”

Tilting his spectacles down his nose, Hank frowned. “Come on, Con. Give me a little credit. I can tell my #9969a from my #0420e by now.”

Connor smirked. “Very clever, Hank.”

“Not just a pretty face,” Hank responded with a wink. “Besides, this is just a regular fine tune, right?” He returned to tinkering with Connor’s shoulder, his hands working their magic. “You can trust me.”

Smiling, Connor chugged down a large mouthful of Thirium, replenishing his delicate levels. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for IshidaSado and GamUnite. A thousand apologies for the wait, and thank you very much for your patience. 💙💙💙
> 
> The prompt surrounded Connor’s insecurities about being an Android, and being “just a machine.” Which is one of my favourite themes to write for Connor! There’s so much to work with in game and in fanon, and personally, I love the deactivating skin/interfacing thing lots.
> 
> Funnily enough, a big part of this fic came from a WIP I’ve had sitting in google docs since LAST AUGUST. And finally it gets light! The thing with mechanic Hank was something I always wanted to do, and the part in the DPD was something I’d already written and always wanted to finish. Once this prompt came along, it just worked together. I hope you liked it.
> 
> The “#9969a from my #0420e” is an Android “telling my arse from my elbow joke.” Hahah, funny joke.
> 
> I give credit to my girlfriend for the title, “Irregular Maintenance.” Thank you for helping me with titles in times of strife, for sometimes they are the hardest thing to write sometimes. ❤️
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. 💙💙


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